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“What are you doing?” I manage on a whisper.
He scans my face, studying my eyes before his gaze drops to my lips. Instead of answering, he presses our mouths together again. This time there’s a crackle of a spark where his lips brush over mine. I gasp, a soft intake of breath. His eyes darken at the sound. The lust burns brightly in his, but before apprehension can take root, he deepens the kiss.
The only parts of our bodies touching are his hands on my cheeks and our lips, but it’s already a sensory overload. His clean smell infiltrates my nose—citrus and spices. The warmth of his hands seeps into my skin. I’m unprepared, and the new sensations catch me off-guard. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so susceptible if this wasn’t my first kiss. I can only blame myself for holding out for a futile fantasy. I can only blame my inexperience for being so utterly defenseless against his skillful lips.
Goosebumps break out over my arms when he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. He nips the flesh softly with his teeth and then lets go to plant a butterfly kiss on the same spot. Heat surges through my veins, my body reacting violently to the light stimulation. When he traces the seam of my lips with his tongue, my lips open of their own accord. He steals inside, intensifying the kiss further. He tastes of whiskey and man. The gentle way he molds his lips over mine weakens my knees. My body starts to hum, electricity tingling under my overly sensitive skin. All the while, he holds me carefully, framing my face like I’m a fragile doll.
My breathing spikes. My breasts tighten. An ache starts to pulse between my legs. A moan escapes my lips, bursting like a bubble in our kiss. Need rises in my body as the kiss becomes more demanding. I answer it without thinking, tangling my tongue with his. The minute I return the caress with equal measure, he walks me backward until my body collides with the window. The curtains haven’t been drawn. The pane is cold on my back, emphasizing how overheated my skin is.
He leans in, pressing his body against mine. There’s something about being held like this by a man. I can’t put my finger on it, only that it makes me want to submit to his possession, to be dominated by his strength and protected by his power. I fall effortlessly into the trap. My lifelong tendency to escape via dreaming is a well-practiced skill. It easily aids my mind away from reality to the fantasy that’s played off so many times in my dreams that I’m longing for it with constant desire.
He’s hard and solid, a wall of muscle. His erection presses against my stomach, feeding me my own measure of power. Male power has always featured in my fantasies about sex, but I never knew I’d have some of my own. It’s liberating, soothing my resentment of our unequal standing. The small part of my mind that still functions processes and stores the new knowledge. The only place I’ll ever have power is in his bed.
His hands leave my face to slide down my neck and over my shoulders. They roam over my arms and come to rest on my hips. Through it all, he doesn’t break the kiss. Our life forces are mingled, the air we inhale the same. My breathing becomes more labored as Maxime lays a palm over my stomach. I know he can feel the rapid movement of my in- and exhales, my need for more. It’s as if he does just that, measures my reaction, before moving his hand to the underside of my breast. I gasp, my body going still in anticipation. Cautiously, he drags his hand higher until his thumb brushes my nipple. When the tip hardens under his touch, a growl escapes his chest.
Our kiss turns frantic, my fantasy urgent and his victory a foregone conclusion. I can’t describe what his hands on me feel like. I’ve never experienced such crazed need. I don’t even know what to expect, only that it’s natural when he bunches the dress in a fist and pulls it up to my hip so his free hand can slip underneath and cup the heat between my legs.
My moan is mindless, shameful. My underwear is wet. The sound he makes when he discovers this is closer to animal than man. Abandoning the private place no man has ever touched, he grips the zipper on the side of the dress. It makes a scratchy sound as he pulls it down. He’s gentle as he slips the sleeve off my shoulder. The fabric pools around my waist. He holds my gaze as he pushes it over my hips, letting the dress fall around my feet. The gray of his eyes is smoky, the usual coldness burning hot. I’m mesmerized by their transformation, staring at the way the color darkens to molten mercury as he takes a step back and drags his gaze over me.
